


Petty Vandals

by plrtzglrb



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2522729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plrtzglrb/pseuds/plrtzglrb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rory and Jess commit a small act of vandalism, and the rest is history. Starts with 2x05. Literati.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Great Soupdini

**Author's Note:**

> This is cross-posted on ff.net. I wondered what would've happened if Jess had stayed for dinner.

"You just have to unlatch them and then push."

"Great. Shall we?"

"Shall we what?"

"Bail."

"No."

Not that he had pegged her for the bailing kind. Little Miss Reads-a-Lot had a disposition sunnier than Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm's and a collection of Harvard pennants to rival their admissions office. He wonders, then, at his disappointment, when he had only meant to tease her.

He presses on. "Why?"

"Because, it's Tuesday night in Stars Hollow. There's nowhere to bail to. The 24-hour mini-mart just closed twenty minutes ago."

"So we'll sit on a bench and stare at our shoes."

"Look, Sookie just made a ton of great food, and I'm  _starving_ , and though it may not seem like it right at this moment, it's gonna be fun. Trust me."

"I don't even know you," he says. And she clearly doesn't know him. He'd probably have more fun reenacting scenes from Stephen King novels, or dancing in public, or hanging out with  _Liz_.

"Well, don't I look trustworthy?" She says it with breathy kind of honestly. His eyes flick to the poem on her dresser, and he wonders how this girl reacted when she first read it. Did she skim past Ginsburg's talk of

_-dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol_   
_and cock and endless balls,-_

Did she blush?

He scoffs. "No."

"W-well. Hmm." This throws her. She narrows her eyes at him in a borderline-withering stare, and he fights down a smirk. "You did just try to convince me to sneak out my bedroom window so we could go look at our feet."

"So, no foot fetish, then?"

"We've got a perfectly good front door."

"Huh." He wants to laugh.  _We've got a perfectly good front door_.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear out of habit and flashes him another megawatt smile. "Tell you what. If you can make it through the meal without jumping out of any windows, I'll go look at feet with you after dinner."

"What if I roll? Can I leap out the window?"

"Only if it's from the second story, neighbor." At this, he is speechless. "Oh, and you've got to try Sookie's grilled cheese. Do we have a deal?"

"I knew I was right not to trust you." He relents and follows her out into the dining hall. There's a winning smile plastered on her face and the shadow of a grin on his as he tucks her copy of  _Howl_ into his back pocket.

* * *

"So, Jess, you got any hobbies?" Jackson dishes himself a second helping of mashed potatoes and passes them along to Sookie.

"Nope." Jackson's face falls a little at this, but Rory nudges Jess under the table. He glares at her. "I like music."

"Really? What kind of music? I'm a CCR guy, myself."

"All kinds."

"Rory, you should introduce him to Lane," Lorelai offers. "Just don't let Mama Kim see."

Rory grins. "I'm sure they'll run into each other at some town function or another."

"Oh!" Sookie exclaims. "Jess, I forgot to ask if you'd like some grilled cheese. I wasn't sure if you'd like roast." Sookie moves to get up, but Lorelai raises a hand.

"Sookie, honey. I'm sure the roast is fine. Right, Jess?"

"Sookie's grilled cheese  _is_  amazing," says Rory. "It cured my chicken pox in 5th grade."

"That's right! It was the paprika. Chickens hate paprika," Sookie says.

Jess looks sidelong at Rory, the hint of a challenge in his eyes, and deadpans, "Well, if it cured the chicken pox." Rory chortles, inaudibly, but Lorelai is fluent in Kid Code and senses that something else is going on.

"You know, it's probably gotten cold by now," Lorelai says.

"I'll make a new one!" Sookie is up and in the kitchen in a flash.

"I should supervise," says Jackson as he follows.

A long silence falls on the table in their absence. Luke picks at the remains of his salad, Jess stares blankly ahead, and Rory looks...smug? Since when was Lorelai's progeny this smug.

"Ror, how was school?" she asks.

"Same as usual. The Paris parts were sucky, but I'm honing some superhuman compartmentalization skills."

"Be sure to include that in your Harvard essay," says Luke.

"Have you figured out Jess's school situation?" Lorelai asks him.

"Uh, he started Monday, I think."

"Go, Minutemen," Jess chirps, his sarcasm not lost on Lorelai.

"Well, Rory's not at Stars Hollow High, but I'm sure she can tell you where not to sit in the cafeteria."

"Doogie Hauser?" he asks Rory.

"Max Fischer. I go to private school in Hartford."

"That explains the books."

"Rory's always been a big reader. She's like the Tiger Woods of reading a lot. Aren't you?" Lorelai says.

Rory shrugs, more bashful than evasive. "I guess."

"When you were 12, you asked Sookie to make you a Yorick cake. Taylor tried to try her for Satanism."

"That's only because you rented the Mel Gibson  _Hamlet_  five times in a row."

Lorelai gasps. "I was trying to get my hair to do that Helena Bonham Carter flippy ponytail thing."

"And you still never figured it out."

"Satanist."

"Shallow."

"Grilled cheese!" Sookie chimes in as she and Jackson reappear with Jess's sandwich.

"See if you can guess the fifth cheese," says Jackson. Jess just looks at Rory like she owes him big.

* * *

"It was real great, you doing this for Jess and all." Luke had volunteered to help Lorelai clear the table. He's washing dishes, now, while she dries and pouts. Luke is completely oblivious to her mood.

"Any time."

"I still can't believe Liz would ship him off like this."

"You  _still_  don't know what he did?"

Luke shakes his head. "Whatever it was, I probably can't blame the kid. He's got Courtney Love for a mother."

"You know who Courtney Love is?"

"Rachel liked some of her stuff," he says, half apologetically. Lorelai shuts her mouth. "Anyway, point is, I'm glad it's not just me. Someone needs to show him the world's not entirely full of flakes."

She refrains from joking about the Frosted Flakes. "Like I said. Any time." They share a brief, warm moment. She glances into the living room, where the teens are talking amiably by the mantle. "He likes Rory."

"I know, he said more than two words to her. I thought I was having an aneurysm."

"No, Luke. He  _likes_  Rory."

"What?" Luke nearly drops a plate.

* * *

"I'm still having trouble wrapping my head around the skull cake."

She knits her brows together. "What skull cake?"

"Yorick."

"Obviously, I know who Yorick is. How do  _you_  know who Yorick is?"

"Same thing. I rented the Mel Gibson  _Hamlet_  five or six times."

"Uh huh."

"Or was it Ethan Hawke?"

She rolls her eyes at him good-naturedly, and he thinks it's maybe the cutest thing he's ever seen. He needs to be careful, though, or he'll ruin the  _Howl_  trick he's been plotting all night.

"So, foot time?" He asks. He wants to kick himself for how corny that sounded, but ironically, he'd only be looking more closely at his own feet.

"Let me go talk to my mom."

He doesn't question her need for permission.

"Mom, I promised Jess I'd show him around town after dinner."

Luke looks like he's seen a ghost, and Rory eyes him precariously.

"This late? Half the town is closed by now," Lorelai says.

"Yeah, but it's Twinkle Light season and Al's got that sundae special."

Lorelai nods, wary but not protesting. "Just be back by 9. Oh, and could you pick up some plastic wrap at Doose's? We can probably live on these leftovers until Tuesday."

"Will do," he daughter says, beaming. She leaves.

"You just let her go?" Luke asks.

"Of course."

"But you just told me Jess wants to get with her."

"I didn't say it like that. Luke, I'm not gonna prevent her from talking to a boy just because he likes her. That's what Emily would do, and I am not Emily." A beat. "If anything, that would probably just encourage him."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. It just means I know guys like Jess, and they want what they can't have."

"You don't know anything about Jess. You just met him."

"I don't need to know him. I just know."

"I can't believe this. You offer to throw him a dinner party, and now you're trying to tell me he's a bad kid?"

"His mother shipped him to Connecticut!"

"So?!"

"So, good kids don't get shipped to Connecticut!"

"You are unbelievable."

"Think about it, Luke. You know that kid is trouble."

"And I am  _all_  he has!" He's shouting, now. He pulls the dish towel from his shoulder and throws it on her kitchen table before storming out.

* * *

"So, besides 'music' and not reading  _Hamlet_ , what do you do?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Hang out."

"Hang out?"

"What, I don't seem like a people person to you?"

She blushes when he looks at her. They're halfway to town by now, and Rory hadn't been kidding about the twinkle lights - the whole town is illuminated in soft blue-yellow light.

"Why did you want to bail?"

"Just felt like it."

"Was dinner really that bad?"

No, it wasn't. "Just not my thing."

"What is your thing?"

"Not that."

She takes a deep breath. "Ladies and gentlemen, Holden Caulfield."

He laughs, and it's a real, honest-to-goodness laugh. No cynicism or anger or hidden agenda.

"You've read  _Catcher in the Rye_."

"Wasn't Ethan Hawke in that, too?"

"There is no  _Catcher in the Rye_ movie."

"Huh."

They walk in silence for a moment, their breath rising in the early autumn chill.

"So, that's the gazebo."

"Huh."

"Over there is Al's Pancake World. They've got really good chicken tikka masala, but only every other Tuesday. And that next door is Andrew's books - it's no Strand, but he's got a surprisingly good selection of feminist literature. You've got your twinkle light store, the beauty supply, the Chat Club. That's Kim's Antinques - Lane lives there, you'll probably meet her at some point - and...Doose's."

Jess looks down at his wrist. There's no watch, but he pretends as much. "The whole town in less than 60 seconds."

"I have to-" she starts, pointing at the door to the market.

"I'll be over there," he says, motioning to the gazebo.

"You can come in," she says, snickering.

He nods and follows.

It's late, and the market is mostly empty. Rory doesn't bother to look for Dean - he's got basketball practice on Thursday nights - but she can't help feeling relieved knowing that he won't be around to see her here right now.

She makes a b-line for the plastic wrap, leaving Jess to wander around the store. He absentmindedly starts flipping cans of soup upside down.

"What are you doing?" she asks. He nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Just doing a little redecorating."

"If Taylor sees you, he will kill you. And I won't stop him."

"I'm hurt." He continues flipping the soup cans.

"Jess. Stop that."

"Why?"

"Because..." She can't think of a single reason that doesn't rhyme with Shmaylor Floosie. While she racks her brain for substantial objections, Jess grabs a can of soup and hands it to her.

"Come on, Gilmore."

"This is stupid," she says, not letting go of the soup. "I should be institutionalized."

"I'll request the padded cell across the hall."

She smiles, slowly, unsure, then places the can upside down on the shelf. They proceed to invert all of Campbells and Progressos and a fair amount of the off brands before the night clerk comes by and gives them the stink eye. Rory quickly pays for the plastic wrap, and the two of them leave in a tizzy.

"I can't believe you got me to turn soup upside down."

"Just think, if Andy Warhol could see us now."

They head toward Luke's.

"We haven't even looked at our feet, yet," she says. They both pause, mid-stride, and look down.

And they keep on walking.

"That was underwhelming," she says.

"I thought it was kind of fun."

"Well, now I know you have at least one interest."

"Two. Or did you already forget about the petty vandalism?"

"Ah, yes. The Great Soupdini." They stop, a block from Luke's. Rory fidgets with the Doose's bag. "I should get back."

Jess nods. "Want me to walk you?"

"I know the way," she says, and heads off.

"Night, Rory."

"Goodnight, Caulfield," she calls.

He's in so much trouble. 


	2. Pierpont Patrol

There are a couple of ways he can do this:

He can sneak into her house during the day, place it back on her shelf, and wait for her to discover the notes on her own, but who knows how long that will take.

He can amaze her with his coin tricks and then present the book as a different kind of illusion, but he's trying to get with her, not get invited to her bat mitzvah.

He could screw subtlety and just give her the goddamn book.

After some internal debating, he's landed on door number three, and he's going to go for it, too. Until that tall, floppy asshole starts kissing her in the middle of the diner.

So, Rory has a boyfriend.

Jess heads for the front door.

"Jess! Where are you going?" Luke calls. The afternoon rush is in full swing.

"Out," Jess replies. He doesn't spare Rory so much as a glance as she watches him go.

"Caesar, cover," Luke shouts before storming out after Jess.

"Wonder what that's about," Dean says.

"That's just Jess being Jess."

"Wait, you know that guy?"

"Yeah, he's Luke's nephew. I told you, he came over for dinner last night."

Dean shifts uncomfortably.

"What?" Rory prods.

"Nothing, he's just made kind of a name for himself is all."

"What kind of name?"

Dean shrugs. "A bad one. Getting in fights, cutting class."

"Yeah, but how much can you trust the Stars Hollow High rumor mill. Freshman year, the entire student body thought Marcia Pilsen was sleeping with Mr. Atkins. He almost lost his job."

"I thought that was true."

"See? Just give Jess a chance. He's cool, I swear."

"If you say so." He leans in for a kiss. "I've got to get to work."

"Already?"

"Yeah, Taylor says there's some kind of soup emergency."

"Oh. Well. Have fun." She smiles up at her boyfriend, ignoring the nagging pit of guilt that's starting to form in her stomach. She watches him go with something like regret, but perks up when Luke pushes Jess back in through the front door. Without pause, Luke grabs a pot of coffee and shoves it in Jess's hand.

"But-" Jess begins.

Luke cuts him off with a glare. Jess scowls as he refills Mrs. Casini's coffee.

When he turns to refill Rory's, he notices that A) the floppy boyfriend is gone, and B) she's been watching him. He immediately softens. Without a word, he refills her cup, pulls the stolen book from his back pocket, and places it in front of her before continuing his rounds with the coffee pot.

It takes her a moment to register.

She picks up the book, at first thinking that Jess didn't have to go out and get his own - he could have just borrowed hers. But the name "Rory Gilmore" is written on the inside cover in pencil. And just beneath it, in tiny black print:

_"I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd."  
_

_I hope you don't mind. I added some thoughts._

_\- Soupdini_

She should be angry. He defiled her book! She flips through and sees that nearly every page is filled with the same neat black handwriting, underlines and arrows and the occasional doodle. She's not angry, though. She's speechless. She's, well. Impressed.

She marches up to the counter.

"You've read this before." It's a statement, not a question.

He wipes down the counter and tries not to crack. "About 40 times."

"And  _Hamlet_ , and  _Catcher_."

"Read those, too," he says.

"Huh," she says, prompting him to raise a brow. "I thought you said you didn't read much."

"Well. What is much?"

She raises a brow in turn.

"You know what this means, don't you?"

"What?"

A huge smile. "You totally have a hobby."

* * *

"Hi, grandma," she says, and kisses Emily on the cheek.

"Rory, so good to see you."

"Mom," says Lorelai.

"Lorelai. What can I get you to drink?"

"Hemlock, with a dash of cyanide."

"It's a simple question, Lorelai."

"Coke for me, please," Rory says.

"Martini, mom," says Lorelai.

Emily brings them their drinks.

"So, Rory. How's school?"

"School is good," Rory says.

"Ooh, tell her about the pavement piece," Lorelai nudges.

"Pavement?" Emily asks.

"Oh, Paris tried to pester me off the paper by assigning me to cover this really boring beat - they're repaving the school parking lot - but I found an angle and even got the  _Franklin_  moderator to tear up a little."

"It was brilliant. I barely knew half the words she used," Lorelai says.

"Send me a copy. I'll have Elsa scan and email the article to your grandfather," Emily says.

"I will," Rory says.

"You're really stepping up the technology game, mom. Have you been playing bridge with Melinda Gates?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Elsa is German."

* * *

"My god, how much caraway did she put in the saurkraut?"

"Relax, mom. I'm sure she just got carried away," Lorelai says, a dramatic flourish at the end. Emily blinks. "Carried away. Caraway." Lorelai turns to Rory. "I'm squandering my spice humor on Emily."

Emily sighs and sets down her fork. "Any exciting plans for the weekend, Rory?"

Rory shrugs. "Mom and I usually do breakfast at Luke's, and then Dean and I are going to see  _Plan 9 from Outer Space_  at the Black White & Read."

"Oh, babe, forgot to mention that Sookie's making us breakfast tomorrow morning," Lorelai says.

"What? Why?"

"No reason."

"But we always do Saturday breakfast at Luke's."

"We don't  _always_  do Saturday breakfast at Luke's."

Emily watches them spar like it's tennis.

"Yes, we do. Two weeks ago, I tried to stay home to cram for my calc test, and you stole my textbook and wouldn't give it back until I calculated the circumference of your pancakes."

"That's because you were trying to study at 10 am on a Saturday."

"I absorb better in the morning," she says with a pout. But then she pauses, realizing. "You got in a fight."

"A fight? What kind of fight?" Emily asks.

"We are not having this conversation," Lorelai warns.

"The only time we don't go to Luke's is when you're fighting. So, what was it about?" Rory asks.

"Rory, I swear to god."

"It had to have happened last night."

"Last night? Why were you fighting with the diner man last night?" Emily asks.

"Which means it was probably about Jess," Rory continues.

"Who's Jess?!"

Lorelai stands. "Grab your coat," she says, "we're leaving."

"Lorelai!" Emily's pleas go unnoticed.

* * *

Lorelai cuts out the Jeep engine. The two spent the entire ride home in an aggravated silence, fuming and huffing like stubborn schoolchildren.

"Can we start over?" Lorelai asks. Rory shifts. She's listening. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you that Luke and I got into a fight. Contrary to popular opinion, your mother is not actually perfect all the time."

"But, why?"

"It's just that pesky human nature."

"I mean, I was right about you fighting about Jess, right?"

A beat, significant. "He was a factor."

"So, again, why?"

"It's complicated." Lorelai smiles, slightly and sadly. "How about I explain it in a month or two."

Rory isn't satisfied, but she's not really upset anymore, either. She opens the door to leave. "I told Lane I'd stop by after dinner."

Lorelai nods as her daughter heads off into the night.

* * *

"What's in the bag?"

He's usually so much better at this. It's easier to be stealthy in Alphabet City, where the street lamps are burnt out and the characters much seedier than he is. But this is Pleasantville, and he's off his game.

"Oops," is all he says as he raises his arms in defense.

She approaches the diner against her better judgement, knowing Mrs. Kim's visiting hours are soon to expire, but her curiosity gets the better of her.

"Too small to be a body. Unless you killed Simon Birch."

"No, but I've got a copy of  _Owen Meany_  upstairs if you wanna borrow it."

"That's okay, I'll just steal and vandalize it later." He smirks at this. "Come on, what's in the bag?"

She's practically bouncing with anticipation. She steps forward as he unties the draw string with a heavy sigh and opens the bag.

"You kidnapped Pierpont!"

"Who?"

"He's Babette's favorite."

"The gnome has a name."

She nods. "Pierpont."

"It just gets better and better."

"You have to put Pierpont back. Babette will flip, which means Taylor will  _flip_ and probably blame you - which, he should - but then Luke won't hear the end of it, he and my mom will never make up, and I'll never get to eat Luke's burgers again. Is that what you want?"

"Jesus. It's a  _gnome_."

She crosses her arms and stares until he caves. He draws the bag shut again and marches back toward Babette's. Rory watches him disappear around the corner and waits a moment to make sure he doesn't double back.

Satisfied the punk has actually gone to return it, she heads off to Lane's.

* * *

The next morning, on her way out the door to Sookie's, she finds an envelope taped to her bedroom window. Inside is a polaroid - Pierpont, perched beside the "Welcome to Stars Hollow" sign. She peers into Babette's yard and finds the gnome exactly where he's supposed to be.


	3. Ground Control to Bela Lugosi

By mid-day Saturday, Rory's nearly finished the first draft of her profile on Mr. Medina for  _the Franklin_. She has yet to tell Lorelai about the interview with Max, and frankly, after last night's argument, she's not exactly up for a heart to heart. Her mother is her best friend, but with that added closeness comes the added side-effect of  _bickering_  like friends. When Lorelai wants to be unreasonable, there isn't anything that can stop her save for - perhaps - the promise of coffee.

So help her god, Rory is going to force her mother to make up with Luke.

She doesn't even know why or how they could possibly be fighting about Jess. The guy is a little friendly with the monosyllables, sure, and the gruff sarcasm thing, but so is Luke, and Lorelai loves Luke. (Well, she doesn't  _love_  Luke.) Jess even made a  _Doogie Hauser_  reference at dinner, and ate Sookie's grilled cheese, and managed to piss off Taylor in the few short days he's been in town. All of the above qualify as Lorelai-approved activities.

Something else must be going on, she figures, because the last time her mom and Luke got into a fight like this - a fight bad enough to keep her away from his coffee for an extended period, that is - it did not end well.

She can't dwell on this too long, though. She has an article to finish, and revise, and revise again. She has a French test on Tuesday that she hasn't started studying for, she's running out of clean underwear, and oh, right, she needs to brainstorm thesis statements for her  _Ethan Frome_ paper. Not to mention her date with Dean tonight.

Dean.

He's never seen  _Plan 9_. He's probably going to hate it, too, and Rory silently dreads having to nudge him every time something funny happens so he can stop daydreaming about hockey and pay attention. If only Lorelai hadn't called him out last movie night about his lack of familiarity with classic B-Movies, or if only Andrew weren't showing it at the BW &R on their regular date night. They couldn't  _not_  go, not after the game of "Would You Rather" she and her mother played during the popcorn scene in  _Troll 2_ , or the ensuing lecture on the silliest death scenes in cinematic history.

Dean has many nice qualities, among which are patience, handsomeness, and the ability to pretend to keep up with whatever she and her mother are talking about. Ed Wood appreciation, though? Not exactly up there.

Bless him for trying.

* * *

"Alright, I'm going to Luke's," Rory calls from the bottom of the stairs. Lorelai appears from her room, still half in pajamas.

"What? Traitor!"

"Sorry, but your beef with Luke is entirely your own."

"But. I thought we were gonna abstain from the happy coffee  _together_. You know, because I birthed you."

Rory presses a finger to her lips, pretending to think on it for a moment. "Yeah, no. I don't think that was in the agreement I signed."

"It's like I don't even know you."

"If you want, I can have my lawyer take a look at the contracts."

"That's alright, go ahead without mommy. All I ask is that, if I die here, in this house, alone, without you, you dispose of the body before I lose my beauty."

"Bye."

"Bring me back coffee!" Lorelai calls.

"Can't. Dean and I are going straight from the diner to the movie."

Lorelai pouts and watches her daughter head off.

* * *

Rory grabs the table by the window just as Luke is wiping it down.

"Hey, Luke."

"Rory," he says. His eyes flick to the door, half dreading but half eager to see Lorelai. "Coffee?" he offers.

"And a coke for Dean."

"Dean, right."

Rory catches his disappointment but says nothing. Luke seems to mutter something to himself as he stalks off to grab the coffee. Just then, Dean enters. He beams as he swoops in to give Rory a kiss.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi."

"How was your day?"

"Oh, you know. Homework. You?"

"Pickup basketball in the park."

"Such exciting lives we lead."

"Exciting is overrated."

"Hear, hear!" she says with a sleepy smile.

Luke brings their drinks and takes their orders, and Dean tells Rory all about Kirk's numerous failed attempts at dunking the ball like Michael Jordan in  _Space Jam_  and the ensuing ambulance ride.

"You think he would have learned after the first eight tries, but no," she says, amused.

"Kirk is nothing if not dedicated," Dean says.

Jess enters, now, and he shoots Rory the briefest of grins before heading behind the curtain.

"Hold that thought," Rory says to Dean. She sees that Luke is busy in the kitchen and seizes the opportunity, quickly disappearing behind the curtain and calling after Jess before he's reached the top of the stairs.

"What's up?" he asks, pleasantly surprised.

"Nothing. I- well, not nothing."

"So, what?"

She gulps, suddenly nervous. "Has Luke said anything to you about the other night?"

"Like what?"

"Like, about a fight with my mom that might have been about you?"

Jess flexes his jaw. He's angry, but now's not the time to lash out. "You really think Luke would confide that in me?"

"Good point."

Rory lingers, unsure, then makes to leave. "If he does, I'll let you know," he says.

"Thanks," she says, worry etched in the corners of her smile. Then she disappears into the diner.

* * *

Jess is on his fifth consecutive cigarette by the time Luke comes upstairs that night. He's shuffling cards - too antsy to read, which is something - and sitting on the goddamn inflatable raft.

Luke grabs himself a beer from the fridge and stands, drinking and staring at nothing, until the beer is gone.

Jess lights another cigarette.

Luke watches him as he lights it - clearly unsure how much parenting he's allowed to do here, unsure whether to lecture his nephew about lung cancer or offer him an ash tray. Lorelai's words of warning echo in the recesses of his mind.

"You know, you shouldn't-" Luke starts, but his heart's just not in it right now. So what if Jess smokes? So what if Jess  _anythings_?

"Way to finish that thought," Jess says after a bit.

"I was just gonna say you shouldn't smoke. It's not good for you."

"Gee, you think?"

"But it's...probably not my place. I mean, it  _is_  my place, that you're staying in right now. But it's not my place to...tell you what to do with your lungs and, stuff."

Jess nods and shuffles.

Luke continues, "Of course, if I were gonna lecture you about smoking, I'd probably start with some of those pictures of diseased lungs. You seen any of those?"

"Can't say I have."

Luke nods. Jess drops the cards and digs around for his copy of  _The Crying of Lot 49_.  _  
_

"You headed somewhere?"

"Out," Jess says.

"Do you like Rory?" Luke blurts out. He's uncomfortable as he says it, but he says it.

"Excuse me?" Jess asks, just inches from the door.

Luke is almost apologetic. "Lorelai's kid. You met her at dinner."

"I know who she is."

"Well, Lorelai said you might maybe have a thing for her. I told her she was crazy - and she is. But." Jess looks at him with wild eyes, like it's taking everything in him not to punch first and ask questions later. "You know what, forget I asked."

"Already have." Jess slams the door on his way out.

* * *

His feet carry him to the gazebo. This town is cracked, and he's sure everyone here has either been committed or is on the way there, but there are worst places to read at night.

Jess considers Luke's admission briefly. So, Lorelai knows that he's attracted to Rory. Really, it's not as if he was trying to hide it, anyway. The first thing he did was hit on her - Jess was not exactly in the habit of offering to sneak out with strange girls he had no interest in. But she'd interpreted it as a friendly joke, or a mindless act of rebellion, and he let it stay there. If he wants to, now, he can walk away with no cards on the table, completely unscathed. Rory is, after all, already attached. And what's with this attachment business? He hardly knows the girl. He's not about to be her  _boyfriend_.

He's just getting into his novel when he hears her, in the distance, approaching the square.

"What? That's the best part!"

"They switched from day to night 12 times in one scene," Dean says. Jess fights not to look up.

"That's what makes it so great."

"We're never gonna see eye to eye on this."

"I can't believe the same guy who claims to love  _Boogie Nights_  can't appreciate the genius of  _Plan 9_." _  
_

"I thought you said you hated Paul Thomas Anderson."

"It's a solidarity thing. Mom hates him, so-"

"-naturally, so do you."

"I don't agree with her on  _everything._ " Jess can almost hear her blush, all angry and flustered.

"Give me one example."

"I don't know."

"See, you totally do."

After that, they wander out of earshot. Jess wonders whether she'll defend herself, whether she'll relent. Jess wonders whether or not all of their conversations go like this. Jess wonders what Rory Gilmore - soup vandalism accomplice and lover of Ginsberg - could possibly see in a guy like Dean.

* * *

The next morning, Lorelai aches. She physically, spiritually, desperately aches for Luke's coffee. It's not even 8 am, and it's Sunday, which means Lorelai should be somewhere between REM cycles, but she's too tired to sleep. She feels a headache coming on.

She's struggling to piece together  _why_  exactly they're fighting, and whether or not it's worth the caffeine withdrawal. Sure, Jess seems like a weasel ready to pop, and sure, Luke  _is_  way in over his head with him, but Jess has yet to give her a concrete reason to hate him, and it's not exactly Luke's fault that his sister's got the parenting prowess of Joan Crawford.

Maybe - just maybe - Lorelai is wrong this time.

She sighs, long and dramatic, though no one is around to witness it. She's going in, and she already regrets it.

* * *

The diner is packed. The only place available is between Kirk and Hank at the counter. She squeezes in, but even so, Luke is so busy rushing around with plates and taking orders that it takes him a few minutes to notice her.

Wordlessly, he pours her coffee. Lorelai opens her mouth to say something, but Luke doesn't even make eye contact.

Lorelai watches him move from customer to customer, confused (and a little hurt) by his refusal to acknowledge her. She was ready to be the bigger man, dammit!

"Hey," she calls, a little distressed, as he rushes past carrying a stack of empty cups. "I'm trying to apologize here."

"What?" he asks, clearly caught off guard. "Kirk, that's enough ketchup," he says, noticing the mountain range of red on Kirk's omelette.

"Sorry," Kirk says.

"I'm apologizing," Lorelai insists.

"For what?"

"Seriously? The other night? Huge fight we had? I totally freaked about Jess."

"Oh," Luke says, swinging the rag from his shoulder to wipe down the counter. "Forget about it."

Lorelai throws her hands up in defeat. "Did I just enter the Twilight Zone?"

Luke shrugs. There's the slightest edge of anger in his voice. "You were right. I am in so far over my head that I can't see my own hat."

"Try turning it around."

"You know he smokes like a chimney, he doesn't answer my questions, doesn't tell me where he's going or when he's coming home-" Luke turns his head to the curtain and raises his voice "-he can't get his ass out of bed for the morning rush - and I still have no idea what it was he did to make Liz ship him off like that. As far as I'm concerned, he probably had whatever came,  _coming_."

"If you say so," Lorelai says, suddenly and inexplicably concerned.

"Can I get you something to eat?"

She shakes her head no. "Rory's at home. I'll take a couple coffees to go, though."

"I'll warm up some muffins."

* * *

Lorelai creeps into Rory's room with the coffee and muffins and takes a seat on the edge of her sleeping daughter's bed. She pokes Rory's leg until she stirs awake.

Rory stares up at Lorelai in groggy surprise, then turns to check the clock. "It's 9." Lorelai hands her the coffee. "And you went to Luke's?" She perks up. "Does this mean-?"

"Luke and I made up."

Rory takes a sip and sits up. "I love it when you and Luke make up."

"We also got free make-up muffins."

"I love free make-up muffins. You should fight more."

"Noted." She pats Rory's legs excitedly. "Alright, get dressed, Sleeping Beauty."

"What's happening?"

"Well, I figured since it's early and we've got the whole day ahead of us, we could do a little impromptu shopping in New York?"

Rory's eyes go wide. "Can we bring Lane?"

"If you can get it past Mrs. Kim."

Rory pecks her mom on the cheek and runs for the phone. Lorelai smiles, satisfied her daughter is so easy to please. She notices, then, a thin white book tucked beneath her pillow.  _Howl and Other Poems_. She opens it and scans the unfamiliar black handwriting, underlines and annotations.

_I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by  
madness, starving hysterical naked,_  
 _dragging themselves through the negro streets at  
dawn looking for an angry fix,_  
 _angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly_  
connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of  
night

The passage in question is starred and bracketed. In the margins, the mysterious annotator has a single word: "Whitman"

In the distance, Lorelai can hear Rory's muffled conversation, changing quickly from excited to disappointed to polite to excited yet again. But Lorelai is engrossed. She flips through the volume trying to figure out who might have written these. Finally, she checks the dedication page and sees the note.

Soupdini?

She barely has time to process the inscription before Rory re-enters the room. She heads for her closet and dresses quickly.

"Lane can come, but if Mrs. Kim asks about St. Mark's, try not to mention that St. Mark's is the home of Japadog and Sing Sing."

Lorelai stealthily replaces the book beneath Rory's pillow. "The less I know, the better, babe."

And it's true. Does Lorelai want to know the identity of this Soupdini? More than anything. But right now, right here, she's better off in the dark.


	4. Phony Murder Mayhem

"Coffee?" Jess approaches Lorelai with the pot.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." Lorelai watches him pour her cup with some curiosity. Maybe it's high time she gets to know the kid. "How are you, Jess?"

"I'm not bleeding or anything."

"And school?"

"It's still there."

"Well, then it's...gonna be a good day, huh?"

"The parade's at noon," Jess deadpans, then he turns to Luke. "It's 7:45," he says.

"So?"

"So, do you want me to go to school, or do you want me to openly defy child labor laws?"

"Go." Luke waves him out. "Stay out of trouble."

"Foiled again," he says to Lorelai, humorlessly.

"Out," Luke says. Jess returns the coffee to the counter and pulls his copy of  _The Bell Jar_  from his pocket before heading out.

"Wow, so much love." Lorelai comments. She notices the book, though, and her suspicions are raised. "Hey, Luke? Would you say Jess reads a lot?"

"Oh, yeah. All the time. Usually when he's supposed to be working."

Lorelai nods, slowly piecing things together.

"So, you guys have a site in mind for the inn?" Luke asks.

* * *

The next day, Rory and Lane take a mid-morning walk around town.

"Janine Fertman's trying to be my friend again," Lane laments.

"Yikes. What kind of vibe are you giving her?"

"Oh, my patented Keith Richards circa 1969  _don't mess with me_  vibe, with a thousand-yard Asian stare thrown in."

"That should do it."

As they turn the corner, they see a crowd gathered around Doose's. It's a mess - police tape, blinking lights, Taylor looking out of his mind. Rory and Lane approach with some gleeful trepidation.

"Just try to calm down, Taylor," the policewoman says.

"Calm down! Why should I calm down?" For a man who lives perpetually on the edge of a meltdown, Taylor is particularly outraged this morning.

"Yeah, why should he calm down?" Bootsy chimes in. Rory and Lane exchange an amused glance at Taylor tries to make Bootsy go away.

"We're going to get to the bottom of this, I promise you," the policewoman says.

"A crime was committed right in front of my store," Taylor argues.

"Now, we can't say that for sure."

"How come you can't say that for sure? This is a police tape. You're the police, you own the tape!"

"Taylor, we've contacted everyone in the precinct. No one knows anything about this."

"Well, what am I supposed to do? I've got a dead body right in front of my store!"

"No, you have a chalk outline of a dead body in front of your store."

Rory finds Dean in the crowd, and Lane follows.

"What's going on?" Rory asks.

"I don't know. I got here and this is what I found. I mean, I told him it looked fake, but he didn't believe me," Dean says.

"And you have such an honest face," Rory says, pouting.

"Well, he must not love me as much as you do."

"Okay, you two are officially sickening," Lane says before heading back home.

"Taylor, we found it," the policewoman announces.

"What is it?" Taylor asks.

"Nothing."

"What?"

"Everyone in town is accounted for, Taylor. This was probably just an elaborate prank."

"But it looks so real. Where'd they get the police tape?"

"Kids have their ways."

"Who would be depraved enough to pull a stupid prank like this?"

Rory has an idea. Almost instinctively, she turns and sees Jess standing across the square, smirking and looking right at her. She feels a blush rise in her cheeks, hot and slow.

* * *

Mia visits so infrequently that her mere presence is like a holiday for Lorelai. Rory spends most of Saturday in the inn with her mom and Mia, listening to them gab on about Lorelai's first days at the Independence, Rory's early childhood, and all that's transpired from then to now.

Rory can't help thinking about Jess. The look on his face in the square that morning - he looked like he had done it for  _her_ , and she can barely piece together how she feels about that. By all accounts, she should be annoyed, should be angry. The indirect consequence of any action against Taylor is more work for Dean. After the police officer declared the chalk outline a prank, Taylor asked Dean and the other bag boys to see to the clean up as quickly as possible. Granted, Taylor makes good on overtime, but Dean still had to give up his otherwise fun-filled Saturday for that.

And yet, she's not mad. Not even annoyed. She feels...giddy.

She carries this feeling with her as she follows her mom and Mia into the diner for lunch.

"Look at this place. It's exactly the same," Mia says.

"Actually, I made him paint it a few months ago," Lorelai boasts.

"Mia, hey!" Luke says. He steps away from his broken toaster and goes in for a hug.

"Nice to see you, Lucas," says Mia, beaming proudly.

"You're the only person in the world who can call me that, Mia."

"I know this."

"I'm saying this for others who plan to try it later."

"Whatever, Lucas," Lorelai says. He leers at her, and she grins.

"Mia, you know anything about toasters?" Luke asks.

"Not a damn thing."

"Well, then sit down and let me get you some coffee."

Mia expresses her disdain for the weather in Santa Barbara and all the ways it is unlike Connecticut. Rory suspects Mia is saying this for Lorelai's benefit; year-round sunshine doesn't seem like the worst thing for a retired inn owner, but she keeps her lips zipped.

Luke resumes his attempt to fix the toaster. Jess appears from behind the curtain and watches him poke around inside, amused. "You're making that worse."

"Big help, thanks," Luke says.

Jess can feel Rory's eyes on him without turning to look. "Here," he says, taking the butter knife from Luke's hand and going to work on it expertly.

"Jess-" Luke begins to protest.

"Don't you have customers to serve?" Jess asks.

Luke glares, but relents. He brings coffee to Lorelai's table.

"Luke, that's your nephew?" Mia asks.

"It's Liz's kid." He turns to Jess, who is completely taking apart the toaster, "Jess, this is Mia. She owns the Independence Inn."

Jess waves, wordlessly, then resumes his fiddling.

"That's, 'hello, nice to meet you,' in Jess," Luke says.

"You weren't exactly a talkative boy yourself when you were his age," Mia says with a grin. Mia goes on to explain - to Luke's abject horror - that Luke had been at various times a skateboarder, a Trekkie, and a hustler. "Did I say something I shouldn't have?" Mia asks, knowing full well she has.

"Oh no, Mia, that's okay. I just have to cancel everything I have scheduled for the next three months, 'cause I'll still be laughing my ass off," Lorelai says. Luke is just mortified.

But then the bell rings, and Taylor enters the diner in a huff.

"Luke, I need to talk to you right now," he says.

"What is it, Taylor?"

"I have conducted a thorough investigation of all the people who may have inadvertently been witness to the phony murder at my store last night."

"There was a phony murder?" Mia interjects.

"Yeah," Lorelai says, "the town's too dull to work up a real murder."

"Luke, are you going to listen?" Taylor asks, frustrated.

"What's this got to do with  _me_?" Luke asks.

Taylor puffs his cheeks. "Three people have reported seeing Jess in that area late last night, skulking,  _lurking_ ," he says, then turns to Jess, "Weren't you, young man?"

Jess pauses his work on the toaster, folds his arms across his chest, and raises a challenging eyebrow at Taylor.

"There were a lot of people out late last night. I know because I fed some of them. I'll give you their names so you can add them to your suspect list," Luke says, patience wearing thin.

"Another person witnessed Jess walking out of an arts and crafts store two days ago with what appeared to be chalk," Taylor continues.

Jess points to the specials' board above his head. "It was for the diner."

"What are you gonna do about it Luke?" Taylor says, ignoring Jess.

"About what?" Luke asks.

"About the results of my investigation."

"Hey, standing right here," Jess says.

"Absolutely nothing, but thanks for the info," Luke says.

"This isn't over." Taylor straightens himself out and heads for the door.

"Yes, it is," Luke and Jess say, completely in unison.

"Whoa, freaky," Lorelai says to Rory.

"You think they've formed a hive mind?" Rory jokes.

"I don't know, but I hope they do it again."

Jess resumes his work on the toaster without so much as a second glance at Taylor. Luke approaches him, frantic.

"You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?" Luke asks.

"Jeez, Uncle Luke, I don't know. You've lived in this crackpot town longer than I have."

"You look me in the eye and tell me you didn't do it, or so help me God, I'll bring Taylor back in here myself and make you apologize."

Jess presses down the toaster button - it's fixed. With that, Jess storms out the front door.

Rory watches him go. She knows Taylor is right, that Jess fabricated the crime scene, but she can't help but feel like he's been wronged.

"Hey, mom. I've got some paper stuff to work on. I'm gonna head home."

"What? Don't you want to stay here and catch up with Mia?" Lorelai asks.

"Oh, let her go," Mia says with a dismissive wave.

"I'll be done by dinner," Rory says.

She kisses her mother on the cheek and gives Mia a hug before heading out. She doesn't know why she lied - probably just simpler this way. By her estimation, given that Jess headed south on Elm, there's a good chance she knows where he's gone.

* * *

He's smoking. She's heard Luke complain about the habit, but she's not yet seen it for herself. Not till now.

He's got one leg dangling over the edge of the bridge and a book balanced on the opposite knee. She hesitates, suddenly regretting her decision to track him down. She doesn't want to disturb him, but he startles her by looking up at her.

She waves, dumbly.

"Hey," she says. He doesn't say anything, so she takes a seat beside him and notes the cover of his book. " _The Bell Jar_. One of my favorites."

"Oh yeah?"

Rory nods. "Have you read any of her poetry?"

"Just this and some of the journals."

"She's an amazing poet - it's even better than her prose. I can lend you some stuff if you want."

"Thanks, " he says. He flicks the butt of his cigarette into the lake. She makes a face.

"Why'd you do it?" She asks, out of nowhere. Her tone is matter-of-fact, not accusatory or judgmental, but he still tenses out of habit.

"Not you, too."

"I don't care if you did. I thought it was funny."

He cracks a huge grin. "Huh."

"So, why'd you do it?"

He thinks on it, looking out at the water. He looks her in the eyes and shrugs. "I just did it to mess with Taylor."

She nods, not entirely satisfied.

"Why'd you think I did it?" he asks, goading her a bit.

"I- I didn't really..."

His grin broadens. She blushes and looks away.

"I'm glad you thought it was funny," he says.

After a moment of warm silence, she stands. "I should get back. Homework."

"Yeah, same," he says, not making any moves to go.

She looks back at him when she reaches the edge of the bridge, and he nods at her. The answer to a question she was too afraid to ask.


	5. Defending Bjork

"Well, I heard it was two to a sleigh - no more, no less. You were breaking the rules."

"A subject with which you've got some familiarity," Rory says, wryly. Her breath rises in the December air. He can't help staring at her mouth.

"Touché."

She adjusts the blanket in her lap and wrinkles her nose. "You could've hurt yourself, you know."

"You sound concerned," Jess says, more a question than not.

"Well, if you injure yourself on these sleighs, my mom is liable to get sued. I've got to protect the family fortune."

"Didn't realize I was out on the town with Bruce Wayne." He watches her for any indication of her current mood. Banter aside, she's more prickly than usual. Something is off. "I can jump out, if you want," he offers.

"Doesn't matter to me."

"Are you mad at me or something?"

"What do you think?"

"I can't read your mind, Rory."

"You got in a fight with Dean," she says, looking down.

"Dean?"

"My boyfriend."

It's the first time she's acknowledged Dean's existence to Jess, he notes.

"Ah. He still your boyfriend?"

"Okay, you can jump out now," she says, a tinge of real anger in her voice.

"What does it matter?"

"It matters because Dean is my boyfriend, and I care what happens to him."

"Hey, I was fighting someone else. Dean jumped in on his own."

"He was trying to help you," Rory says, a little too defensive.

"Oh, he should go into government service if he's so interested in helping people. But me, he can stop worrying about."

"Why were you fighting in the first place?"

"Because Chuck Presby's a jerk."

Rory opens and closes her mouth. She feels suddenly embarrassed, suddenly guilty about it all. "You were fighting Chuck Presby?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." It hadn't even occurred to her that Jess may have been in the right. That Dean may have overstepped. Dean never mentioned anything about breaking up another fight, or about Chuck Presby (who used to tease Rory in elementary school for skipping out on recess to read). "He is a jerk."

"This whole town is weird and full of jerks."

"You can't actually believe that."

"Can't I?"

She fumbles. "Then, why are you still here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, school's out, and you obviously hate it here. So why don't you just go home?"

"I don't  _hate_ it here." And his mom is a flake and a half who'd rather not have him home for the holidays, but he doesn't need to hash that out just now. As much as he'd love to spend Christmas on a dirty mattress with a broken radiator and his mom drunk and crying in the other room - no, he doesn't hate it here.

He sees the snowmen in the townsquare and decides it's time to drop the subject. "That's good," he says"What is?"

He motions to the square. "Your snowman. Snowwoman, actually."

"You know which one is ours?"

He nods. "It definitely has the most personality. Kind of looks like...Bjork."

"That's what we were going for," she says proudly.

"Yeah?"

"But everyone thinks the one on the end is gonna be the winner."

"It doesn't have to be," Jess says. A plan starts to formulate.

"What do you mean?"

He shrugs, "I just think it'd be a shame if Bjork loses out to Jack Frost and Michaelangelo over there."

"Jess," she says, a warning in her voice. But he raises a brow - a proposition - and she has to fight the urge to smile. "We can't."

"We? I never said anything about  _we_. Besides, you'd chicken out."

"I would not."

"I think you would."

"I would not!" A beat. "And don't you dare say, 'prove it.'"

He raises his hands in defense. "Hey, I'm no boy scout. You can cross that street all by yourself."

She flexes her jaw and considers her next words carefully. "If I were to...theoretically do the thing that I  _think_  we're both talking about, then I would theoretically, probably see you in the lobby at midnight."

* * *

She's cracked. Completely mental. She's sitting here on the steps of her mother's inn at  _midnight_  waiting for some guy - who isn't Dean, she feels compelled to add - to come and help her destroy a snowman so she can win some stupid town competition. She hates cheating, despises it, even. She hates breaking rules, and staying up late, and sneaking out, but she's doing it. All to prove a point to Jess about her ability to not chicken out.

The last time she snuck out in the middle of the night, she was busted by Headmaster Charleston for  _ringing a bell_ and nearly destroyed her perfect record of behavior (deer meltdown aside). She had to fight for her life not to get suspended for it. And what about Harvard? If they frown upon out-of-bounds bell ringing, she can only imagine their stance on demolishing snowmen for personal gain.

Rory is ready to go back to bed when Jess appears at the foot of the stairs with a baseball bat in hand. She jumps.

"Jeez. You're like Jack Nicholson in  _The Shining_."

"I'm surprised you showed."

She sighs. "Let's just get this over with."

* * *

Outside the cool air hits them right away. The sky is clear; between the twinkle lights and the bright moon overhead, she realizes just how visible they still are under cover of darkness.

"We're gonna get caught." There's an edge of panic in her voice.

"Relax. Anyone in this town who could possibly bust us is back at the inn, deep in some kind of porter-induced coma."

"I guess," she says, unconvinced of the veracity of that statement.

"Look, if we get caught, I'll take the fall. Tell them I...threatened your coffee or something."

She shakes her head vigorously. "No. I don't need to be coddled, Jess. I can- I can handle it. I'm dealing, see?" She makes a snowball and throws it at a nearby tree on an impulse. She misses, and the snowball falls apart on the ground.

"That felt like it was gonna be a lot cooler before I did it," she says.

"I wasn't going to say anything."

Finally, they arrive at the snowman in question. She looks up at it and feels at once very, very small.

"You don't have to do this," he says, seriously, noting her quiet trepidation.

She doesn't move, or speak, or flinch. Then - suddenly - she kicks it. And kicks it, again and again, chipping away at the now-icy base of the snowman bit by bit.

"This" -kick- "snow" -kick- "is like marble!"

He grabs her shoulders gently and pulls her back a foot or so. She blushes at the contact, but it's impossible to tell. Her cheeks are already rosy from the chill.

"Here," he says, handing her the baseball bat. "Don't kill your foot."

She grips the bat awkwardly, like she's never seen one before in her whole life. Her mouth is dry.

"Swing," he instructs. He steps out of the way, for fear that she might accidentally hit him.

The bat comes into contact with the snowman's head, and it disintegrates in the wind. She whips her head around to Jess and flashes him the smile of a giddy schoolchild. "I did it!"

He nods, grinning. "I'll make a troublemaker out of you, yet."

She looks at him seriously, now. "So, it was a plan."

"What?"

"Destroying the snowman, dragging me along. It was a plan."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh huh."

He blows hot air onto his hands and rubs them together. "You cold?"

"And, you're officially evasive."

"Want some hot chocolate? I can make some in the diner if you want."

She rolls her eyes. "Sure, why not?"

* * *

She's never been in the kitchen before. She's never even been behind the counter, come to think of it, though her mother goes back there all the time to get coffee when Luke is too busy flirting with her to do it himself. It's bigger than she thought it would be. Such a small portion is visible from the dining room, but there's a huge grill, a walk-in fridge, a salad bar (not that it's ever been used in service of the Gilmore girls).

She watches him stir. His hands moving in slow circles with the wooden spoon. She hardly notices his eyes on her, she's so transfixed.

"Hey," he says. She averts her gaze quickly. "What do you and Dean talk about?" The question comes from nowhere. She wrinkles her brow.

"What?"

"I mean, does he know Bjork?"

"That's none of your business." He nods, so nonchalant that she questions her own sanity. She feels compelled to defend him, though. "I've played him some stuff."

"So, it's a teacher-student type thing you've got going?"

"Stop." Her face is hot. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest.

"No, I'm really curious. What do you guys talk about?" He turns the burner off and grabs two mugs from outside the kitchen, like they're chatting about the weather and not the state of Rory's personal, private love life. He pours, and she gapes at him.

"Everything. We talk about everything," she insists.

"Like?"

"Just everything. Tons of stuff, whatever."

He hands her a mug, hits the lights in the kitchen, and heads out into the diner. She follows him dumbly.

"It's just in the brief, non-pugilistic time I've spent with him in class, he doesn't seem like your kind of guy."

They sit at the counter. If the subject at hand were any different, she might be having the time of her life. Hot cocoa at Luke's after hours, the post-vandalism glow. Her mind is spinning. Why is he pushing this? "He  _is_  my kind of guy. He's exactly my kind of guy."

"I guess I don't know him that well." He shrugs and takes a sip.

"Well, you don't."

"Okay. I'll drop it."

"Thank you." She finally sips her cocoa. "This is really good," she says, her face lighting up.

"Don't sound so surprised."

"I'm not, it's just. This is better than Luke's."

"Don't tell him you said that."

She smiles, glad for the friendly change of pace. "I saw you fix the toaster the other day."

"Oh yeah?"

She nods. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but I think Luke really appreciated it."

"Whatever."

They sit and drink quietly, just enjoying each other's company. But something is still bothering her. Something doesn't add up.

"Why do you care?" she asks.

"About what?" He thinks he knows, but he needs to hear her say it.

"What Dean and I talk about. It's none of your business."

"I know."

"Okay, so. Why were you so bent on finding out?"

Too much time passes before he speaks again. "That's not obvious?"

Oh.

She's suddenly acutely aware of their proximity. She shape of his hands around the mug. The tiniest bit of chocolate on his upper lip. The permanent crinkle in his forehead. The way his hair sticks out of the wool cap in a million directions.

"Rory," he says, his voice low. She can't bring herself to make eye contact and focuses instead on his chest. A Pixies shirt under the hoodie and the leather jacket. She loves the Pixies. She can't breathe.

"I have to go," she says flatly. She gets up, quickly adjusts her scarf and replaces her gloves. "Thanks for the hot chocolate. Thanks, for just...Bye."

She's out the door in a flash. She runs all the way back to the inn, not stopping when the cold air fills her lungs and makes it near impossible for her to breathe, not stopping until she's back in bed, safely under covers. And it's only until she hears her mother's snoring that she allows herself to consider that Jess had given her the answer she was looking for all along.


	6. Static

"Rory."

Nothing. She shakes her daughter, gently.

"Rory, honey. Come on. Up-up."

She stirs awake. Rubs her eyes and takes in the unfamiliar setting. Her mother's amused expression, the tasteful wallpaper.

Bracebridge.

She stretches. "What time is it?" Rory asks through a yawn.

"11:30," Lorelai says.

"What?! No, it's so late."

"I tried to wake you earlier, hun, but you were out cold. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you snuck some of Bootsy's personal stash last night. Dean said 'bye,' by the way. He had to get Clara home."

Rory nods, not really comprehending anything. "Coffee?" she mutters.

Lorelai kisses her on the forehead. "Get dressed, and meet mommy downstairs. I'll have Sookie put on a pot."

Rory smiles her thanks and watches Lorelai exit the room.

* * *

After a truly remarkable sleigh ride home, two cups of coffee, some reading, and a thorough round of packing for her trip to Boston, Rory announces that she's heading out.

"If you give me 10 minutes to get out of these sweatpants, I'll go to Luke's with you," Lorelai offers.

"That's okay. I'm just going to Lane's."

"What about dinner?"

"Can we just do take-out? I'm not really up for Luke's tonight."

Lorelai regards her oddly but doesn't pry. "Chinese it is."

Rory kisses her mom on the forehead from over the couch and throws on a scarf. "I'll be home by 6."

* * *

Rory's not sure how to broach the subject. God knows she can't talk about it with her mom - she'd first have to admit to sneaking out, destroying a snowman, and messing with Taylor's soup cans. And, oh yeah - all that with a boy who'd made a name for himself by faking crime scenes, vandalizing her books, and generally wreaking havoc on the citizens of Stars Hollow. No. Lorelai was going to have to be left out of this one, at least until Rory could make sense of her emotions.

Lane, on the other hand:

"Oh my God!"

"I know."

"But. Wow... Oh my God!"

"You said that before."

"I know, I just.  _A snowman?_ "

"It's weirder for me than it is for you."

"Have you told Lorelai?"

"No. God, I can't even begin to think about having that conversation with her. She's..."

"Lorelai?"

"Is that weird? I feel like I tell her everything. I mean, she can tell when I'm using the  _bathroom_  more than usual. I don't know how long I can keep something this huge from her."

"It's not that huge."

"We snuck out of the inn to destroy a snowman. And then he told me-" Rory stops herself short. She doesn't want to go there, but her mouth is moving faster than her mind this time.

"What? What did Jess say?" Lane's eyes go wide, like Rory's just spilled the location of buried treasure.

"'That's not obvious?'"

"Of course it's not obvious! Rory, I'm dying here."

"No, that's what he said," Rory says. She clears her throat and lowers her voice - "'That's not obvious?'" Rory sighs. "I asked him why he was being so nosey. He kept asking all of these questions about me and Dean, and why I was dating Dean, and-"

"OH MY GOD."

Rory groans. "I know."

"Rory. Jess likes you."

"I know! I've been wracking my brain trying to arrive at any other conclusion but this one, but...I don't even know why he bothers. I'm with Dean!"

"I know you are."

"Dean is my boyfriend."

"You said that before."

"Lane."

"Sorry - not helping." Lane raises her hands in defense as a token of good will.

"Is it-" Rory opens and closes her mouth, unsure where to begin. She plays with the hem of her wool sweater. "What if-?" She trails off.

"What if...you do like J-?"

"Don't finish that thought," Rory says, a little too quickly. She adds, "please."

"Okay." Lane pauses, significant. She doesn't want to push her friend, but sometimes, Rory needs a little pushing. "I'm just saying, that  _if_  you decided that your feelings were...in flux. That wouldn't make you a bad person."

Rory nods. She knows that this is the advice she needs, but it's still too much for her to handle. She loves Dean. She doesn't just say it. She  _means_  it. But she also feels herself drawn to Jess, and the pull is getting stronger. She can either let it take her out to sea and risk losing her footing, or she can fight the current and swim to shore - but risk exhaustion, fury, futility.

Thank God she's spending the rest of her break in Boston.


	7. Friction

He hasn't seen her since.

She's avoiding him, or so he assumes. Under ordinary circumstances, she'd be in there every day, twice a day, for her coffee and burger and chili fries and pie. He knows her habits well enough by now - she's not exactly the Iliad. Doesn't require translation to read.

He should have known better than to let her in. Not in the saccharine, emotional kind of way - he could care less that she's gotten under his skin. Doesn't mind the tightness in his chest when he sees her, or the flood of fucking poetry that comes to mind when they're together. Jess has liked girls before, and he'll probably like more girls later. He minds, however, that she's so goddamn stubborn, that she's oblivious, that she cares for him (he's pretty sure) but won't act on it. That she's avoiding him. That he's tried and given hints and nothing's worked. That it's cold as shit right now, and Luke has him trapped in the diner pouring coffee for her  _mom_  and all he can do is  _feel bad_  about it. That he's powerless. _  
_

"How's it going, Jess?"

That snaps him out of it.

"It's going," he replies, not as gruffly as he'd intended. He sounds casual. Taciturn, but open to further conversation.

"Good. That's good. Wouldn't want it to  _not_  be going, 'cause then it'd be stopping, and what does that even mean?"

Is Lorelai babbling? She babbles frequently, sure, but not with him.

He just nods.

"She's in Boston."

"What?"

"Rory. She's spending the break with her dad."

"Huh."

"Just, thought you might like to know."

"Whatever."

Jess moves on, refills the next guy's coffee, delivers some meatloaf and mashed potatoes to Babette and Morey, signs an order slip for the pickle delivery, and tries to read a few more pages of  _Brief Interviews with Hideous Men_  but can't because Rory isn't avoiding him. She's just in Boston.

Huh.

* * *

"Kid!"

Lorelai runs down the icy front steps of her porch at the sound of the car door slamming.

"Mom!"

They collide and collapse into a messy hug.

"I'm never leaving home again," Rory promises.

"That college is gonna be tricky, huh?"

"Mmhmm."

They pull apart and look at each other, giddy.

"So, Dean has called about 12 times today."

"Oh, yeah. I think I told him I was getting back at 10."

"That's silly."

"Yeah, well."

"So, go on. Be in love," Lorelai instructs, letting go of her hold on Rory and shooing her off the lawn.

Rory pouts and pats her tummy for comedic effect. "But I'm hungry. Let's go to Luke's!"

Inside, the phone rings. Rory furrows her brow.

The machine gets the call.

"Hey, Rory. Or Lorelai, I guess. Just, give me a call when you get this. Love you."

Beep.

Rory shuffles her feet in the snow. "I'm gonna go set my bags down."

Rory disappears into the house, and after a moment of consideration, Lorelai decides to follow her in. She bumps into Rory as she's leaving her bedroom, bag-free.

"Whoa," Rory says, lamely, narrowly avoiding a forehead collision with her mom.

"What's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you don't want to talk to Dean, you're  _dying_  to go to Luke's-"

"I'm starving."

"Then, invite Dean to Luke's."

"It'll take too long for him to walk there, and I'm hungry now, and I'll see him right after."

Lorelai scoffs.

"Why does it matter?" Rory asks, crossing her arms across her chest for the full-on teenager effect.

"You tell me."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Who's Soupdini?"

Rory's eyes go wide. After a few moments of stammering, all she can manage is, "What?"

Lorelai sighs. "I wasn't trying to go through your stuff. I just saw the book under your pillow and picked it up and - boom - Soupdini."

A blush rises on Rory's face, and possibly the rest of her body. Her mouth is dry. She swallows, but it isn't helping.

"Jess," she says, at barely a whisper.

"I know."

"You knew?"

Lorelai sits at the kitchen table and indicates for Rory to do the same. They look a little ridiculous, in winter coats and hats indoors.

"Come on, Rory. Spill. Talk to me."

Rory takes a deep breath and starts at the beginning. The dinner party, the soup-

"Oh my God, I wish I could have seen Taylor's face."

-the gnome-

"Not Pierpont!"

-the phony murder-

"Well, duh."

-and the snowman.

"Babe."

"And it was a mistake, and I'm sorry, and I'll never do it again."

"You'll never destroy a very impressive snowman again? I should hope not."

"You should ground me. Take away my food privileges. Lock me in my room and throw away the key."

"Rory, I'm not mad."

"Well, you should be! I've been running around at night committing petty acts of vandalism with a boy. A boy who isn't Dean."

"Last time I checked, flipping cans of soup upside down and throwing snowballs at things were not exactly on the list of bizarre Connecticut felonies."

"But-"

"Rory. Believe me, I'm the last person who wants this to be true, but maybe you like Jess."

"No."

"It's a possibility."

"No."

"Have you even-?"

"No! I don't want to have this conversation right now. I'm hungry, and I'm tired, and I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay." Lorelai throws her hands up in defeat. "Let's go to Luke's."

Rory doesn't budge. The inertia's got her, or maybe it's the dread possibility of having to interact with Jess now that her mother  _knows_.

"Or I could order Al's."

"No, it's okay...I should probably call Dean. See if he wants to go to Weston's."

Lorelai nods and watches Rory get up to grab the phone.

* * *

She wasn't looking for him - that much is true.

She was just walking home from Dean's late at night alone. He'd offered to accompany her, insisted even, but in this cold it just didn't make any sense for him to walk halfway across town for a delayed goodnight kiss. She'd see him tomorrow.

A few minutes ago, she'd looked into the diner, not really hopeful but certainly curious to see if he was inside, closing up. When she saw the lights off in the diner, the lights on in the apartment upstairs, she'd just assumed he was inside reading or...whatever it was that Jess did in his free time.

She's thinking these exact thoughts when she catches him, obscured by the cloudy night, with a collection of picket signs under his arm.

"Redecorating?" she asks. She's grateful that she sounds much more casual than she feels; she feels something close to "vomit" on the anxiety scale.

"You know me."

"A regular Bob Vila."

He grins. She fucking melts. She's tired of melting.

"What are they-?" she asks, motioning to the signs. He turns them so she can read. "The Annual Stars Hollow Read-A-Thon. Jess, I knew you were diabolical, but this is a special kind of low."

"I'm not stealing them."

"Well, then, what?"

"I'm gonna plant them all in front of Luke's."

Her stony expression morphs instantly into amusement. She laughs.

"Wanna help?" he asks.

She starts to walk with him back toward Luke's, shaking her head. "I used to be so well-behaved."

"Yeah, and think how boring it'd be without me."

"Yeah." She surprises her self in saying that. She's grown careless, she realizes, with her words, what she chooses to reveal. But she can't take it back.

The arrive in front of the diner, and he hands her one of the signs. Immediately, he goes about planting them into the slightly frozen patch of grass by the sidewalk. He struggles a bit, throws his weight into it. She doesn't notice that he's got his hand out for another sign.

"Oh, sorry." She hands it to him.

"Don't apologize."

"Right. Sorry."

She crosses her arms across her chest and waits as he plants the last sign. She could head home - or, well - she probably should. It's colder than she realized. She rubs her hands together for warmth.

He finishes in silence. They take a step back to admire their handiwork.

"Luke's gonna hate it."

"Yep," he says, popping the p.

"Well, if Luke doesn't stand for literacy, I can't stand for Luke's."

He notices her shiver.

"You should get home."

She nods. "Night, Jess."

"Want me to walk you?"

Yes. She shakes her head no. "It's too much."

"Come on. You don't know what kind of dangers might be lurking out there."

"I'm pretty sure I'm talking to him."

He shrugs and starts walking towards her house.

"Jessssssss."

"Give me a head start. It's not lurking if I've got company."

She rolls her eyes, hard, and starts after him.

"There will be no lurking. Not in my town, dammit."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do not  _ma'am_  me. I am not a ma'am."

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you."

A beat. "You really don't have to do this."

"What, walk?" He shrugs. "It's cool."

"No, it's cold. Freezing, in fact. I can't believe how long I've been outside." She rubs her nose. "I think I've lost feeling in part of my face."

"Where were you, before?"

"Boston."

"You walked all the way here from Boston?"

"No, I was," she yawns, "at Dean's."

He nods. Not prying. "How is Dean?"

"Dean is great."

"How come Dean didn't walk you home?"

"He offered, but..."

Nothing. A full minute passes. Their silence is awkward, but only temporarily. Their footsteps sync up. They watch each other's breath rise from the corners of their eyes. What is there to say? Nothing, surely, that won't crack the ice they've been so carefully treading.

Finally, they reach the edge of her property. He slows his pace. She does the same.

He can't exactly walk her to the door. People only do things like that on dates. This is a professional courtesy. A gesture of good will under the guise of "protection" - something they both know is both insulting to Rory's independence and unnecessary in a town like this.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says, backing up.

God, she doesn't want him to go.

"Wait. Jess."

His hands are in his pockets - no gloves. He bites his lip. Waiting. She's supposed to say something. Her eyes are cloudy with something - exhaustion? Dementia? Impulsiveitis?

"What you said before..."

"What?" The verbal thing really does come and go. "What did I say, Rory?"

She wants him to repeat her name, over and over. To never stop. Her breathing grows heavy. She's sweating - it's 35 and she's  _sweating_. She's losing a battle she never realized she was fighting.

She kisses him.

He hesitates at first - she's caught him completely off guard, but he's fast. He pulls her in. The kiss is slow but fervent. Hot, cold. Desperate but completely inevitable.

"Wow," she says, pulling back. She keeps her eyes closed. He kisses her again. Any minute, she'll realize what a terrible mistake she's just made and leave him behind. He doesn't want to make it easy. He rakes his teeth across her lower lip, deepens the kiss, runs a hand through her hair, pulls her firmly against him. She returns every gesture.

When she finally opens her eyes, he doesn't see the terror he'd expected. Not disappointment, nor the regret.

"I'm sorry," she says, so quietly. Not pulling away. Not pulling away. Not pulling away.

"For what?"

"I'm not good at this."

"Rory, you gotta be a little less cryptic."

"I can't believe I kissed you." A beat. "I mean, I'm still here, kissing you."

"Is that what this is?" he asks, running a hand up her back.

"Why am I not freaking out?"

"I'd try not to over-think it." He kisses her neck. Slow circles. She's warming up. She's warm.

"You're not helping," she breathes.

"Aren't I?"

"This is absurd," she says. He looks up at her and waits for her to break. "I can't-"

"Say it."

"I can't just stop being me just because I like a guy."

She retracts her arms and pulls them across her chest.

"Hey, I'm not the one standing in your way. If you want to be with Dean, be with Dean."

"That's not what I said," she insists, her voice a little too loud. He calms down. He knows that he's being unreasonable, pushing her too far too fast. "I just...I need some time." She sniffs.

"Okay."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing." He almost smiles.

And they're cold again.

Neither will sleep well tonight.


	8. Brand New Cadillac

She asks for time, and she gets it.

When Rory goes to the diner, they don't say much beyond the usual pleasantries. He reads, she talks to her mother, they pay and leave. It's a fine system, except when Dean surprises her after school. Then, Jess goes upstairs, or "out," and Rory has to force herself not to watch him go.

She feels like a fraud. Well. Fraud is too kind a word for the kind of horrible she feels. Who was it in Satan's mouth at the end of the  _Inferno_  again? Judas?

Rory knows that nice girls don't cheat on their boyfriends, even if it is just once, at night, under the influence of (what surely must've been) a stroke.

Maybe - Rory considers with true dread - maybe she's not such a nice girl after all.

This is the thought that haunts her more than anything. More than the possibility that her love for Dean might've faded and gone, or that the warmth bubbling inside her every time she sees Jess is  _real_. She's not an idiot. She's read the Russians and knows as well as a sixteen-year-old girl can know what romantic dissatisfaction looks like. She knows that people don't stay with their first loves. Not always.

What terrifies her, really, is that Jess might have the power to push Rory beyond her comfort zone. That she might actually like it. That she can break the rules. That the rules might be arbitrary. That there might not be anything wrong with just following her impulses and living in the moment.

If any of that is true, it goes against the very strict code of ethics she's set for herself. The whole point was to not be a bad girl. Bad girls get pregnant and drop out of high school. Bad girls move to small towns in Connecticut and have messy, beautiful lives. Bad girls are what she's been warned about, and how backwards is that? Is she not the product of a bad girl with great hair an unrelenting will to survive?

Is any of this really so terrible?

Some of it is bad. Cheating on Dean - the definition of bad. Cheating in the snowman competition - a lesser kind of bad, but still generally not advisable.

The rest, though? Impulsiveness? Falling for a guy who might love books more than she does?

Why is this so difficult?

* * *

Three weeks pass without incident. And then, one day:

"Hey, Kirk," she says. They're in Stars Hollow Video, plotting their next movie night. Rory's personally pushing for a b-movie triple feature. "There are a couple of little kids over there and they're, uh, looking at this tape cover that's kind of mature. You might wanna put that stuff on a higher shelf or something."

"Mature? How mature?" Kirk asks.

"Uh, it's a half-naked woman just standing there." Rory usually wouldn't say anything, but the movie is on the  _lowest shelf_. Is it really that much to ask that they keep the hard stuff higher up?

"Is she a blonde?"

"What?"

"I'll check it out right now."

Not exactly the shot heard round the world. Rory was merely expressing concern over the lack of impediment to 10-year-old boys trying to view sexually explicit material. There was no call to arms against adult content. No preamble to the Declaration of Censorship. But in Taylor Doose's town, a friendly suggestion will do for a rallying cry.

Taylor stops her the next day, mid-conversation, to inform her of as much. "In this day and age when the kids are willy nilly with their clothes and hair and morals, it is heartwarming to see a sensible girl like you still exists. A girl who has the gumption and the guts to stand up and say, 'why are we allowing this trash out where all our children can see it?'"

"What are you talking about?" Rory can feel the heat rising in her cheeks. Part fury, part embarrassment for having Paris as witness in all of this.

Taylor leads her into the store. Nearly all the videos are gone.

"What happened? Where is everything?" Rory asks.

"Well, thanks to your brilliant suggestion, they are all safely stashed behind the Rory Curtain."

"The what?"

Paris snickers.

"We thought it was only fitting to name it after you," Kirk explains.

"No! I don't want a Rory Curtain, I never asked for a Rory Curtain!" Rory says.

"You told me to put that movie where the kids couldn't see it," Taylor says.

"You did?" chimes Paris.

"Well, yeah," Rory relents, "but I just meant to put it on a higher shelf, not to get fabric involved." The words feel lame. A feeble defense. She's cornered.

Later, she cannot shake the feeling that the town's perception of her has become detrimental to both her freedom and her happiness. As long as she remains the beloved, unsullied, designated Town Maiden, she will carry the mantle of causes like this. She's the face of censorship. Christiane Amanpour would never agree to be the face of censorship.

This is the thought that she carries with her when she hears the honking and peers through the window at her doting boyfriend.

"You got a car?" she asks, stepping out onto the front porch.

"Oh my God," Lorelai gapes.

"Not my car - your car," Dean says, beaming.

"No!" Rory says.

"Finished it yesterday."

"No you didnt." Rory remembers the first time she saw this car, about a year ago. Dean told her he loved her and then broke up with her when she could not reciprocate on command.

"Do you want 'em?" he asks her, dangling the keys before her like a carrot.

Rory takes them with dazed solemnity. Somewhere between immense gratitude and unutterable disappointment. She does not want to harbor resentment or feel the burden of his affection. Why couldn't he have just bought her some chocolate and called it a day? This is too much for her to process.

She hops behind the wheel and turns the key in the ignition. It purrs.

"Wow," she says.

"If you don't like it, I bet I can sell it to someone else," Dean says. He's kidding. She feels sick.

"Oh, she'll keep it," Lorelai quips. "Now, if you could just build me a plane that looks like Shamu."

"He made that car?" Richard asks, stepping out the front door. He was just finishing up his day in Stars Hollow.

"Isn't that incredible?" Lorelai says.

"Well, she can't accept it."

"Oh Dad, it's okay."

"It's not okay, he's a child. She's not driving a car a child put together."

Rory just sits there, dumbly. Unable to jump to Dean's defense.

"Excuse me sir, but, uh, my father worked on cars and my grandfather worked on cars. I know what I'm doing," Dean says.

"A car is not a model airplane, young man."

"I know that."

"It is a complex vehicle."

"I know that too."

"And I will not have my granddaughter driving around in some contraption you put together in auto shop."

"Okay, can I just say something here?" Lorelai interjects, her voice catching.

Rory stares straight ahead. Silent.

"I didn't make this in auto shop," Dean says. "I am  _telling_  you this car is safe."

"So, you're a certified mechanic?" Richard asks.

"No." The vein in Dean's forehead pops.

"But you had the assistance of a certified mechanic?"

"No."

"Well, then you drove it past a certified mechanic."

"No."

"Dad, stop it," Lorelai huffs. "This is a nice thing Dean did here. Remember, nice things."

"I'm sorry," Richard presses. "She can't accept it. Now, if you will excuse us, we were about to order dinner."

"Mr. Gilmore, I understand you want Rory to be safe, but so do I. I would not give this car to her if I did not know for a fact that it was a hundred percent safe. I checked it, my father checked it, and Gypsy at Hewes Brothers checked it. It has been checked."

Rory wants to ask her mom if she remembers that scene in  _10 Things I Hate About You_  where Andrew Keegan shows up to take Larisa Oleynik to prom, but she's already gone with Joseph Gordon-Levitt. She's not sure why. Something feels off.

"I'm just supposed to take your word for it?" Richard asks.

"Nope."

"Agreed."

"Let's go," Dean says.

"Go where?"

"To check it."

"No," Rory says.

Dean's head snaps around, like he'd forgotten she was even there. All eyes are on Rory now. She wishes she'd stayed quiet, that she could rescind her protest, but there's nothing she can do now but press on.

"What do you mean, no?" Dean asks.

Rory turns the car off and steps out.

"I just. I mean, I can't accept this."

"You're a sensible girl, Rory," Richard says.

"I promise it's safe," Dean says, not catching on.

She shakes her head. "I know."

"So, what are you saying?"

"It's just too much."

Realization dawns on Lorelai's face. She feels sorry, for everyone, but she'd be an idiot to try to stop this. She grabs her father's arm and cranes her neck toward the house. They quietly move inside.

"What are you talking about? You've known about this for months."

"Yeah, and if I'm remembering correctly, the first time you told me about it, things didn't end so well." Where is this coming from? The words are pouring out of her like magma.

He shakes his head furiously. "I told you I loved you, and you just sat there. What was I supposed to do, Rory?"

"Break up with me, obviously," she spits.

He runs a hand through his hair, at a loss for words. "I thought we were past this."

"So did I," she says.

"So, I guess I'll sell the car then."

"That's not what I'm saying. Dean, it means so much to me that you did this."

"So keep it."

"I can't do that."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I don't love you anymore!"

Wordlessly, he leaves.

* * *

The next morning, she wakes up with tear-stained cheeks and a stuffy nose. Her head is pounding.

She wonders if news of the break-up has travelled, yet. It's her very first thought. Not whether Dean is okay, or whether her mom has made any coffee, but whether or not Babette overheard their fight. They were loud enough, for sure.

She fights off the urge to wallow in bed for the remainder of her Sunday. There are articles to write, text books to read, problem sets to solve. Air to clear.

She'd be lying if she said she did not dream of Jess last night. Her issues with Dean are entirely divorced from her feelings for Jess. Jess's presence certainly expedited the break-up, but her doubts about it had precipitated long before. There was no salvaging her relationship with Dean.

Jess, though.

In her dream, he had been sitting on the Hartford local bus right next to her, in a Chilton uniform, reading Vonnegut while she read her Plath. Every few minutes, she would feel his eyes on her, turn and kiss him. Quick but deep. Urgent, but not rushed. Legs and shoulders brushing, quietly observing each other, making fun of the other commuters, small stolen moments. A perfectly ordinary dream, but a fantastic one.

She feels strangely hopeful for a girl who's just broken her first love's heart.

She hopes Babette went to bed early last night, because she needs to see Jess, and she'd rather not have to put up with the whole town right now.

* * *

She emerges from her room at 10, fully dressed. Her mother is drinking coffee at the kitchen table and reading  _New York Magazine_  in her robe.

"Headed out?" Lorelai asks. Not pressing. Rory is so grateful that she doesn't press.

"Luke's."

"Want me to come with?"

"That's okay."

"Are you sure? Babette called this morning. I could run defense for you."

Her stomach sinks.

"Does anybody in this town understand the concept of privacy?"

"Sweets, you know they're just concerned about you."

"I know, but I'm not twelve. I didn't get food poisoning at Disney World. I broke up with my boyfriend. Big whoop."

"Should  _I_  be concerned?" Lorelai asks.

"No. I'm fine. I'm really fine. That's the problem. Everyone's waiting for me to not be fine so they can swoop in and make me fine, but I'm already fine."

"Okay, you're fine."

"And I can't believe Taylor would make me the Censorship Princess. He didn't even ask. But, no, Rory loves having curtains named after her. A curtain! Who even does that?"

"Do you want me to go with you to get Taylor to take the curtain down? I've been looking for an excuse to use my Berlin Wall material."

"I don't want to talk to Taylor. I don't want to deal with Taylor. I want to sneak into Taylor's house and reorganize his sweaters, or declare him the King of something he's fundamentally against. Put up a Taylor Curtain and see how he feels."

"Sure, then we'll meet up with Ferris to catch the parade."

"I'm serious."

"And again, I ask: should I be concerned?"

Rory puffs out her cheeks, rather uncharacteristically.

"I'll be right back," she says, and with that, she's out the front door.

She all but marches to the town square. Her steps are measured, quick and determined. She does not stop until she reaches the diner.

She finds Babette and Patty huddled in a corner.

"Hi," Rory says. She's flushed from the cold outside and from her own indignation, but she's not stopping now.

"Rory, dear," Patty starts.

"Save it," Rory says. "I just wanted to tell you that I broke up with Dean, not the other way around. Dean was my boyfriend, and now he's not, and that was my decision. If you want to gossip about that, go ahead, but you don't get to feel sorry for me. And let the record show," she says, addressing the entire diner now, "that I despise censorship. That's right. You can tell Taylor to take down that Rory Curtain, or find a new name for it, because Rory is officially anti-curtain. In fact, I hope every ten-year-old boy in Stars Hollow sees himself a nice pair of boobs, and I hope they see those boobs at one of Taylor's businesses. That's how committed I am to the anti-curtain cause. So, thanks for listening. I hope that we can come to some kind of understanding about the perils of censorship or the privacy of my love life, or whatever…"

She's lost her nerve. She catches sight of Jess and forgets how to string words together.

She nods curtly to Babette and Patty, shouts a "bye" behind her, and leaves.


	9. T.P.

"It's open."

He lingers in the entryway. Watches as she reads Blood Meridian on the couch. She snaps her head in his direction.

"Hey." It's pleasant. Casual. Like she'd been expecting him this whole time.

"Hey."

"You can come in."

"Yeah," he says, finally shutting the door. He hangs his jacket over a chair and takes a seat on an ottoman, far far away.

She closes her book and brings her knees to her chest.

"So, what's up?" she asks.

"I was kind of hoping you could tell me that." She bites her lip. Suddenly not so sure. He presses on. "That was quite a scene in the diner earlier."

"Yeah. I don't know where that came from."

"So, you're definitely broken up with Dean?"

"I'm definitely broken up with Dean."

"Okay." He nods, slowly. Processes the information. A moment of silence passes.

"Okay?"

"You hungry?"

"I- Yeah, I could eat."

"Let's get some pizza."

"I'll go change," she says, half in a daze. Whatever awkwardness hangs between them is bookended by an almost preordained comfort. Like it's the most obvious thing in the world for the two of them to go get pizza fewer than 24 hours after Rory and Dean hit Splitsville.

"So what do you think of Blood Meridian?"

"It's incredible. It's my first McCarthy."

"You're kidding."

She shakes her head, no. "I tried to read it when I was in 8th grade, but the violence was a little beyond."

"Considering I know that you've seen most of Tarantino's filmography, I find that hard to believe."

"The first three times I saw Kill Bill, I watched it like this." She laces her fingers over her eyes to cover them.

"That's precious."

"Like you're so punk rock."

"Hey, I went to the school of rock."

"Really. And what did you learn there?"

"Jack Black is lactose intolerant, for one."

"Huh."

The pizza arrives just as Rory's stomach starts to grumble.

"Are you ever not starving?"

She scrunches her face up in serious contemplation. "Two years ago, mom and I went to the Fairfield County Fair and ate every single fried food item available. I was full the entire drive home."

"Why did I ask?"

She laughs. They go on like this through the meal. Never quite broaching the Most Important Question, opting to sidestep around the Future of Them for as long as their pop culture references will sustain them. But eventually, as they walk through town, breath rising and falling, visible in the cool air, the subject begins to weigh heavy on the pair. Like a wool blanket.

"Jess."

He is grateful that she is the first to speak. It would almost contradict their whole thing if it was him instead of her. Up 'til now, he's given her her time and her space, and he doesn't want to break the chain lest it be the straw that breaks the camel's back.

"We don't have to be anything," she says.

"Okay."

"But, I don't want to be nothing."

"Rory." He stops her in front of a beautiful townhouse on Peach.

"What?"

He jerks his head toward the house, mischievous. It takes a moment, but she gets there. "This is Taylor's house."

"Yes it is."

"We're trick-or-treating 7 months early?"

He pulls a roll of toilet paper from his messenger bag.

"Oh." She's not sure what to do with this. "Did you have that with you this entire time?"

"I grabbed a roll from the bathroom at Al's."

She remains quiet for what seems to Jess like centuries.

"Listen, I, uh...I don't think that's...It's 5 pm."

"Yeah. Forget it."

"No, it's. It's actually, kind of sweet."

"Yeah?"

"In a twisted, close-up-magic, juvenile delinquent kind of way. But, tip, if you ever want to hang out with me ever again, tee-peeing Taylor Doose's house in broad daylight is probably not at the top of the list."

"Noted."

He places the roll of toilet paper gingerly on Taylor's mailbox, and the pair continue their stroll through the town.

"You never answered my question," she says.

"It wasn't phrased as a question."

"Okay. How do you feel about...?" she motions between them, like she's allergic to the word "us."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Maybe, anything other than, 'hey, let's throw toilet paper at Taylor Doose's house?'"

"I like you, Rory."

This shuts her up.

"But, if you still need to figure stuff out, I get it."

They walk for a while in total silence. Eventually, she remembers the speech she practiced late last night and works up the nerve to say it.

"I don't want to jump into something just because I feel like I'm supposed to. I was with Dean for so long. I know that's lame, but it's real, and...I'm sorry if I made it seem like I'm this completely together person who makes rational decisions all the time and does whatever she wants, but I'm, I don't know. I'm working on it. And I really...like you, too. But, in my world, there's not really a way to like you without getting my mother or my grandparents involved, and the thought of that happening is just so awful. Like, Panopticon."

"I get it."

"You do?"

He shrugs. "Panopticon, no. But, the rest of it. The not rushing."

"That doesn't mean... Um." She hates how nervous she sounds. Every sentence an apology or a qualification, but she can't help this feeling with him. From here on out, she's in uncharted territory.

He knows what she doesn't mean. She doesn't mean that she doesn't want to explore with him. Which means - Rory does. She wants him. It's like a lightning bolt to his nervous system. Rory Gilmore wants him, but he can sense her uneasiness, and while he's definitely on board to help her through it, he also knows that he's not going to get any points by pushing her.

"So we're, casual."

She laughs out loud at the word, like he knows she will. It's a silly juxtaposition. Rory Gilmore. Casual.

"When you say it like that... Have you ever read The Unbearable Lightness of Being?"

He nods. "Kundera, yeah."

"I've been thinking about it, kind of constantly. There's this whole thing about 'poetic memory-'"

"'Love begins at the point when a woman enters her first word into our poetic memory,'" he quotes, interjecting.

She nods, contemplating her next move. "That always seemed like a better explanation for love than anything else." They're at the bridge now. Her heart is racing. She can feel it in her earlobes, her fingers, arms, arse, her collarbone. Every vein exposed. Minutes ago she was telling him that she wanted to take things slow, not commit. Right now her entire body is a nerve. They are alone. There is nothing and no one else. She pauses, looks him dead in the eye. "Jess, would you like to be in my poetic memory?"

He grabs her, quick. There is nothing fast enough for him in that moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are greatly appreciated! Seriously, even tiny reviews are a huge encouragement.


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